Origins
by TanaTheScop
Summary: "Your name will be Ulquiorra Schiffer, Fourth Espada. And you shall be my Empty Puppet…" Pre-Espada Ulquiorra. Some gore, blood, violence, etc.


Disclaimer: Tite Kubo owns Bleach, I own a mountain of plushies, keychains, necklaces, and body pillows... which will have to be enough.

This story is just something that I thought up one very early morning when I was sleep deprived and half-crazy. I thought to myself, "Self, why don't you do a story that explains why Ulquiorra is so emotionless? He had to have had emotions at one point, but maybe they were too much for him to handle..."

This is the brainchild of my weirdness and impulses resulting from staying up till the wee hours of the morning. And I'm pretty sure hollows don't bleed, but they do in this story. Soul Reapers can bleed, so can hollows. And Ulquiorra is not an arrancar yet. He is a hollow with a full mask until he... you'll see :-)

Warning: Some gore, not too bad.

* * *

His amusement bubbled out of him in the form of a trembling peal of laughter, loud and slightly psychotic. He had been walking in this desert for who knows how long, starving and savage, filled with the need to kill and maim and slash and sate this fucking _bloodlust_ that had been brewing inside him since he woke up in this lifeless wasteland.

He had lost track of the days he'd been awake, not that days passed in the hollow world with the lonesome, immortal moon always hanging disconsolately in the empty sky, casting bands of light full of sorrow over the rippling sands and any of those unfortunate enough to travel across the dunes.

His only companion was his riotous emotions, ever faithful and out of control. There was nothing he could do to rein them in, nor did he wish to do so. One moment he would feel as small and insignificant as a grain of pure white sand tossed upon the cold breeze, the next he would feel as vengeful and merciless as a sandstorm raging against the barren landscape, rearranging the sand dunes and destroying what little life remained in the trees and tiny white animals that burrowed into the ground.

He was death, he was destruction, and this was his playground.

* * *

_What are you…_

In the scant shadows cast by a dead tree, a dark figure shot his head up as he heard a quiet whisper carried to his ears by the gentle wind.

_Why do you exist…_

He could feel his instincts claw their way to the surface from the deep pit he had shoved them into so as to get a few hours of sleep. But he supposed that was too much to ask for. His voice, hoarse and scratchy from disuse, answered the wind's voice with a quiet sentence.

"I am what I am, and I have no purpose."

He supposed the voice was satisfied by that as the world around him was once again silent. Sometimes he believed he was completely insane, what with the crazy mood swings and voices that drifted to him in the somber night hours.

The man rose to his feet in one smooth motion, brushing the powdery sand from his body with another. There was a certain lack of wasted energy in his movements, as if he had to concentrate everything he had on controlling his every thought and action.

He was used to living like this, no meaning to anything he did, simply surviving from one moment to the next without any concern to his own welfare. He was extremely thin, completely emaciated, yet this didn't seem to worry him. His hair, a shadow blacker than the night sky, was unkempt and ragged even as the lonely moon cast its isolation onto his head with a silvery glow. His pale white skin was a beacon of purity in the darkness of the world known to those in other realms as Hueco Mundo, but to him, it was only known as hell. He was delicate where this world was harsh, weak where this world was unyielding, and innocent where this world was full of grief.

Or so he appeared.

His large emerald eyes shot to the side when a small ratlike creature wriggled its way out of the sand a few feet from where he stood. A dark gleam washed over his eyes as a ghastly smile ripped its way across his face, slashing the pale visage in two as if a knife had trekked across his face. The man raised his right arm, thin fingers tipped with long, sharp claws, and tilted his head until the moonlight burned away the shadows clinging to his face. The tiny animal looked up, the same moonlight glinting in its terrified eyes as it gazed upon its death when the figure's arm slashed down in an unrelenting arc of pure malice.

A small squeak disturbed the peaceful quiet, then was cut off, replaced by a heavy silence.

The warm blood splashed against the cold, white sand in the shadow of one gnarled, broken tree.

A strangely exultant laugh cut through the thick air as a pale fist dyed red and oozing with life blood was raised to the owner's face. A long, pointed tongue flashed out and lapped at the scarlet liquid like a bat feeding on the bleeding teat of a sow it had just sliced open.

He had killed. He was sated. He was… _happy_.

The figure moved on without a backwards glance to insignificant, mangled corpse of his unfortunate prey, reduced to a ball of crushed bones, fur, and minute organs that glistened wetly in the moon's gaze. The weak crushed by one much stronger than it.

That was the way of life in hell, after all.

* * *

One, or two, or maybe an eternity of days later, the man came across another like himself. Oh, it wasn't humanoid nor did it have any semblance of intelligence beyond that necessary to _eat_ and _survive_. It was quite large, easily the man's height three times over. It had a serpentine body with sharp spines shooting out along its back. Its yellow eyes were empty of reason behind its plain white mask that reminded the man of the moon that had watched over him all the time he'd been aware of himself. It was circular with the holes for the eyes raised from the rest of the mask as if they had bubbled up and then burst open.

The pale figure stood in front of the monster. He had been growing more and more restless the last few days, not discovering any form of life besides his own to extinguish. He badly wanted to kill something, could feel the restlessness move through him, tearing through his veins like boiling acid.

His eyes bounced around him, settling on the hollow then traveling to the moon, the sands beneath his bare white feet. They fixed on the huge hollow when the creature gave a roar that made the earth tremble beneath the two figures. His muscles tensed, and a savage grin stretched his lips into a grotesque facsimile of a smile. Bending his knees slightly, he launched off the ground, aiming straight for the hollow's flat mask.

It was over in seconds.

The man slashed his claws across the hollow's mask, earning a strident screech of pain from the monster. He didn't care about the creature's pain. He wanted its _blood_, and he wouldn't stop until the being was drained dry of everything. Blood, screams, its _soul_. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to be alive again.

The hollow's crazy grin stretched even wider until his wide green eyes were nearly closed. Perched on the top of the hollow's head, he brought his blood-coated fingers to his mouth and delicately licked the liquid from his skin. The monster sensed his momentary lapse in attention and took the opportunity to buck upwards, unseating the smaller being crouched precariously on its head.

The man, though surprised, was able to slide further down the hollow's back until he slammed against one of the spikes standing up along its spine. Losing his breath momentarily, he bared his sharp fangs and screamed out a warning growl to the large beast beneath him. Without words, he warned the senseless brute that he was not one to be trifled with, regardless of his diminutive size.

He raised his arms above his head, claws extended, before slamming them down onto the creature's scaly hide. He ripped and slashed his way down into the monster's body, not noticing the blood and bits of muscle and fatty tissue that splattered his face and coated his raven hair in gore. His maniacal grin turned crimson with the blood that ran down his face, dying his pale skin a dark, demonic crimson.

He licked his lips, tasting the warm liquid, as he dug deep enough to glimpse the white bone of the hollow's spine. The creature, sensing its impending death, struggled to get the man off its back before it took much damage to recover from. He simply grasped hold of the slick bone, ignoring the beast's struggles and desperate, whining breaths, and _pulled_. He heard the satisfying crunch of the bone snapping in half, and pulled even harder until he broke off a piece of the spine. He then brought it to his mouth and sucked out the marrow and spinal fluid, lingering on the bitter, heavy taste as if it were fine wine.

The pain was too much for the beast, and it fell to the sand, sending up a large cloud of the powdery white grains that obscured the moon's light, casting a dark shadow over the two figures. Its clouded mind vaguely realized that it was paralyzed and on its way to death, not even caring that the smaller being was currently ripping chunks out of its body and consuming its flesh.

The pale figure, his senses dead to anything but the blood and meat, was enjoying what was to him a feast of monumental proportions. He had never had a chance to sate himself like this! He always had to consume tiny lizards and rodents to even stay able to function.

When the creature finally drew it last breath and gave its death shudder, the man found himself disgusted with the thing. It was weak. It was meat. It deserved a death far less glorious than the one it got. He regretted allowing the creature to feel his claws. He should have killed it with that strange energy blast he had discovered by accident in his past when he'd felt too lazy to get up and kill a feline hollow that had stalked close to his resting spot. He had simply pointed at the spot right between its glowing yellow eyes, and a green burst of light had momentarily blinded him. When his eyes had adjusted, he'd seen only the scant remains of a charred corpse lying before him. Needless to say, he'd felt as if he'd unearthed a new toy. One that he was sure to play with quite often in the future…

The man crunched a small bone in between his fangs, eager to get moving again but loathe to abandon his meal to the scavengers he knew were waiting for the predator to move away from its kill. The smooth skin on his forehead crinkled in distaste at the thought of his strength getting taken advantage of by those pathetic beings that surrounded him when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

He stripped off one long piece of bloody flesh from the side of the beast and neatly rolled it up for a snack later. Hollows, he'd discovered, did not decay. Their flesh remained until others had consumed it, then the bones themselves faded away to black ash that drifted off in the wind. Well, that was what he'd discovered lesser beings did. He wasn't sure if the same thing would happen to him since he held much more power in his flesh than the other hollows he'd encountered. Perhaps the stronger ones could not be eaten? He couldn't imagine any being strong enough to kill him.

Uncaring of the sticky blood coating his body and congealing into a thick mass in his hair, he strode smoothly away from the sight of the carnage, tiny sounds of movement and the scratching of shifting sand reverberating in his ears. The scavengers had come out to feast, just as he'd known they would. For now, they were safe. He was full, content, and had no wish to expend his energy killing small rodents and lizards.

He heard another whisper caress his ears as he gazed up at the moon, the soft light shading his eyes with a sheen of silver. Lips that never moved to show anything other a crazed grin shifted down, creating the illusion of a frown in his otherwise immobile face.

_Who are you…_

* * *

The voices wouldn't stop. They just wouldn't stop.

For the first time since he woke up in this hellish desert, the man found himself agitated. He had been feeling some sort of foreign pressure weighing down on his body, as if something huge had taken a seat on his chest and wouldn't move. It wasn't painful as of yet, but it was unnerving, and the man didn't like that feeling at all.

_Why do you exist…_

The hollow screamed. "Argh! Who the fuck are you! Why do you speak as if you know me! _Tell_ me, damn it!"

The wind was silent. He thought he had perhaps gotten rid of the voice for good, but then…

_What are you (why do you exist)What is your purpose(what is your name)Why do you live…_

He fell to his knees as the voices ran together, rising and falling as waves of a dimly remembered ocean upon the sandy shore, sand that was golden and not this empty white he'd been surrounded with for so long.

_Where is your soul(what is your name)What are you(why do you live)What is your purpose…_

He clutched his head in fury, tearing at his hair to distract his mind from the many voices running over his eardrums again and again and again and again and aga—

He heard a swish, like a blade cutting through the air, and then all was silent.

_It was silent._

The hollow warily raised his head, slightly grateful to whatever silenced the damnable voices, but furious at the being who dared invade his territory. A wild snarl curled his dark lips as his feverish eyes narrowed against the lingering pain the voices had left behind in his brain. His hands curled into dangerous hooks, deadly claws ripping through the fragile sand beneath him. His glowing green eyes glared at the figure before him.

The man stood before the growling beast still writhing on the ground as if the creature posed no danger to him. He was composed, calm, with a slight smile on his face that hinted at a devious type of kindness that lurked beneath the surface of this being's exterior. His hair was an average brown, slightly messy and disheveled, as if he didn't care about his appearance. He wore black-rimmed glasses, further adding to his image as a weak, unimportant being. His clothes were light and loose, good to fight in, yet baggy enough to hamper certain movements if he was untrained. A white robe-like piece over a set of black robe-like clothes.

Not that the monster on the ground cared about clothes. All he cared for was the bloodlust pounding through his veins. He was in pain, and he wanted to kill something to get rid of that pain. And the man before him was a good enough target.

Without any warning, the raven haired beast leaped forward, claws extended and tongue slashing out and curling over his lips, flinging saliva into the air and letting drool run down his chin. However, the man just stepped sideways and allowed the hollow to tumble forward to crash into the sand. He shot to his feet, lightning quick, and once again charged at the misleadingly slender figure, who once again dodged his advance with a small step.

The monster was enraged, more so than he'd been with the voices trampling his brain. He wanted _blood_, and this insignificant man was denying him his need!

The small hollow stopped his useless charges once he saw they were ineffective against his prey. He stood still, his rapid breaths barely moving his chest, small growls still echoing out form his throat, scratchy and rife with insanity. The breaths stopped as the hollow tilted his head to the side, moonlight illuminating his demented smirk. He raised his right arm until his pale, bony finger pointed directly between the man's eyes. A small green light started rotating faster and faster until the hollow let it loose with a savage roar of triumph.

The man looked on with a calm smile.

The hollow shielded his sensitive eyes with an arm as the green light expanded to encompass the entirety of their surroundings. His ears rang with the loud explosion that echoed throughout the desert, scaring a few hollow birds from their perch in a dead tree some distance away. When the light died down enough, he took his arm away from his eyes to peer into the cloud of sand, waiting for some sign that he'd killed the being who'd dared confront him.

His eyes widened in disbelief at the scene presented to him by the clearing sand cloud. The male was still standing, completely unharmed, smile still firmly in place. The hollow noticed the sword the man held at his waist, but was too shocked and enraged to notice any details. He desperately starting charging up another cero, feeling in his bones that his death would be here if he didn't kill the man right that moment.

However, things were not destined to go his way. The brunette disappeared right in front of the hollow's eyes, making the small man's gaze bounce franticly around his surroundings trying to find a glimpse of where he'd gone. The hollow lost his breath as he heard a smooth voice say, "Hado #31: Shakkaho," before a tremendous, burning force slammed into his back, instantly raising blisters as it burned through his skin and muscle. There was no blood; the wound was cauterized as it was made, so there was nothing but the blinding, throbbing pain that spread across his body as he fell to the ground. He cursed his weakness as he heard soft footsteps come toward him, gently wading through the burnt sand turned glass that crunched beneath the man's weight. A silver blade glinted in the moonlight as it pierced the sand beside his head.

"You are quite an interesting hollow, you know. That cero of yours stung quite badly when I deflected it." He reached a hand out towards the hollow, ignoring the others hiss of protest and feeble struggles to move away. He raked a hand through the matted hair, bits of sand, dried blood, and body parts flaking off to cover his skin in a thin sheet of carnage. "You have caught my attention, dear hollow. And not many people manage that." His lips turned up into a peaceful smile. "And those that do manage to interest me either cannot hold my interest or…" He withdrew his hand and rose gracefully to his feet, drawing his sword from where he'd lodged it into the ground. "They die."

The hollow painfully drew himself to his hands and knees, groaning at the slicing, burning agony that simple action caused. He raised his head to look back at the man behind him. He was not one to face away from his death like a coward. He would roar his defiance at the moon until the very end.

And roar he did.

As the earth trembled with his rage, the hollow couldn't hear the one phrase that would change his life forever.

"Shatter, Kyoka Suigetsu."

He was still roaring as the dizzying wave of power hit him, causing a sharp pain in his head and making his world fade into a black darker than the shadows within shadows that lurked behind everything in Hueco Mundo.

The man stayed where he was, sword now sheathed, and looked happily upon the crumpled figure lying unconscious a few feet in front of him, the pale man's now broken mask covering the left side of his head. His lips quirked with the hint of cruelty and madness that hid behind his warm, brown eyes. His smile grew wider before he spoke in a rough whisper that trailed across the eternal night like dead leaves drifting softly through the air on a tender breeze.

"Your name will be Ulquiorra Schiffer, Fourth Espada. And you shall be my Empty Puppet…"

His cruel laughter echoed through the night, long after the two figures had disappeared.


End file.
